


Winged Soul

by a_drunk_ackleholic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Blood, Demons, Fanfiction, Gen, Gore, Hunters, M/M, Other, Parallel Universe, Winchesters - Freeform, original - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-09 22:38:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3266972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_drunk_ackleholic/pseuds/a_drunk_ackleholic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam Winchester dies at the hands of Crowley, Dean will do anything to get his brother back, but with his demon back and in control, will he be able to?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

The blood drained from Sam Winchester's face as Crowley plunged The Blade into Sam's esophagus. Dean, his brother, stood there watching. His eyes narrowed on the King of Hell. "Goodbye, Moose," the King whispered, tearing the bone out of Sam's easily maneuvered flesh. "Now it's your turn." His British accent could be heard over the deafening silence settling upon them at the edge of the crossroads. 

Dean, his figure tall but empowered, stood there, speechless. No words would come for his muscles were now being overwhelmed as he lunged towards Crowley, with this new demon lurking in his eyes. The Angel Blade glared in his hand as it ran across the neck of Crowley's pale flesh. The older Winchester knew that it wouldn't kill him but The Mark would.

Shocked, the King of Hell dropped The Blade and it didn't take Dean long to swipe it up from the soft dirt that lay lightly on the ground.

"Actually, it's yours," the Winchester's deep and raspy voice growled at Crowley before The Blade ripped through his chest and sternum. Dean's black eyes overwhelmed him and this time, there was no one to save him. Not even himself.


	2. Deals

The black eyes flashed on Dean Winchesters face as he brutally stabbed the blade into the cashier at some off road, trashed Stop and Shop. The cameras caught everything. A look appeared on Dean's face as The Blade thrust through the man, feeding The Mark. The look of pure and divine enjoyment that Dean received from stabbing the unfortunate victim. A smirk it was. The blood that seeped out in thick red puddles pleased the older Winchester. A beer that sat on the counter with black licorice and a bag of chips motivated Dean to hurry. 

Running out the four door, black as Dean's eyes, 1967 Chevrolet Impala, the Winchester held groceries in one hand and The Blade that dripped with thick red blood in the other. The oozing blood dripped down his face as he wiped his hand across his forehead. 

Throwing the groceries in the back of the Impala, which Dean called 'Baby,' he revved the engine and went off down the deserted highway. He would save his brother from Hell, no matter the cost. 

xxxx

Castiel sat in dismay. He needed to find his grace. Without it, he was as useless to Dean as a baby is to a counter top. He sat in someone else's Heaven. With the little grace he has, he is using it to see other's happy thoughts. Suddenly, a voice rang through his head. To a human, it was an extremely high pitched noise that would easily kill a man after his ears and eyes bled. To Castiel though, it meant to get his feathery ass back to the prison, or so Dean Winchester would say. 

Castiel, or Cas, walked along the hard concrete floor, all the way to the only occupied cell in the prison: Metatron's cell. "Castiel!"

"What do you want, Metatron?" Cas scowled at him in a threatening tone that Angels usually reserved. 

"Oh, are you not happy to see me? I am happy to see you." Metatron smiled up at Castiel with the most sinister grin. 

"Cut to the chase, Metatron." Cas said using phrases that Dean had happily taught him. "Why was I summoned here?" 

"Oh, because I would like to make you a deal." He said, standing up and striding over to the prison cell door with gallivant strides. He leaned against the barred door, staring at Castiel. 

"What type of deal?" 

"You let me out of here-" Metatron was suddenly cut off. 

"No. You're not getting out of this cage." Cas snapped, glaring at him. 

"Well, it will happen eventually. The cell walls will turn to dust in a few millennium and I will be out, seeking revenge. Guess who will be first on my list?" Castiel started walking out of the prison, down the long concrete hallway when Metatron, whom Dean called Dickwad, spoke. 

"You will never get out. You're in a straight jacket and the bars have been made permanent. All the Angels in the realm will do what they have to in order to keep you locked up." Castiel said, keeping his back towards Metatron. 

"Yes, I guess it is true, but what if I was able to save Dean and return your grace to you? Would you let me out then?" Metatron was able to get Castiel's attention at stand point. 

"You can save Dean?" Castiel turned around and walked straight towards his cell. He grabbed Dickwad by the neck and pushed him against the bars. "How?" Cas commanded smashing Metatron between the bars of his cells. 

"Let me out and I will tell you." Dickwad smirked, his face being squished against the bars. 

xxxx

Reaching a crossroads, Dean placed the box full of a picture of him and the spell materials he needed to perform a summoning ritual, inside the ground in the center of the crossroads. Then, he waited. A few moments pass, then a few more, and finally a beautiful brunette appeared before him flashing her eyes. "So nice to see you again, Dean. I saw how it worked out for you last time." She chuckled, and even though you might expect this beautiful woman's voice to sound like honey, it sounded like Hell, literally. It sounded like the cackling of the chains and the various blades being rubbed against each other to be used in torturous methods. 

"Yeah, nice to see you too." Dean smirked, eyeing her and flashing his eyes black. He seemed to have no control over his eyes, although he did but wasn't tapping into the power to use it. 

"Now, Winchester, what type of deal are we making today?" The brunette whipped her curls behind her ear and stopped in front of Dean, staring at him with her deathly red eyes. 

"I want Sam back. And for it, my soul," Dean almost hummed the last words seeing as how often it seemed like he said it. He stared at her eyes and then her body and how well it fit into the tight black dress that complimented her curves. 

"Oh, but Dean. Sweetie, you don't have a soul. So no deal for you." She whistled and turned her back, ready to leave. 

"I have a soul. I know I do. Now bring Sammy back." Dean's tears stained his already gruff looking cheeks. His five o'clock shadow hiding his face as he stared off into her red, beady eyes. 

"No you don't. Demons don't have souls, and even an amateur hunter would know that. Then again, you aren't a hunter anymore? No, you're just a cold-blooded killer." She cracked a smile, teasing him and daring the man to make a move. 

"You son of a bitch," Dean screamed, launching at her, The Blade in his hand. The Blade was made entirely of bone, with sharp edges for slicing and dicing. The curved handle, and the blade of it with jagged teeth. 

"Now, now Dean boy. Stay on your leash. Did I strike a nerve there? Or should I have said that you were just like your mother? She killed people. She killed people in their homes while their kids slept upstairs and their dad slept on the couch. Oh wait, that's what happened with you, right? Azazel dripping his blood into poor Sammy's mouth? And then Azazel burning your bitch on the ceiling of his bedroom? Looks like she got what she was going for." The demon laughed, as Dean had tears streaking his cheeks. His eyes flicked to black as he tackled her to the ground, throwing his fists into her. With two punches, she had a bloodied face and a broken nose. She laughed at him. 

"You lying bitch," he yelled at her, throwing himself into her with as much might as he could gather. Pulling his belt off of his jeans, he tied her hands together and threw her in the back of his car. She was trapped. The devil's trap drawing on the inside of the trunk kept her from escaping. Taking off his skin tight shirt, he tied her mouth shut and slammed the trunk closed. 

He opened the front door of the Impala and stepped inside. Turning on AC/DC and cranking the radio up, he started driving to the closest bar in whatever city he could make it to. He left the weapon on the front passenger seat along with beer bottles and licorice wrappers and drove. The empty road ahead of him, and the music in his ears, he drove.


	3. Ghost

Dean sighed, grabbing the beer bottle from the bar top and taking a swig from it. "Hey baby, another round here," Dean commanded the bartender as she scoffed at his drunken ass. His slurred speech and dilated eyes told all. Passing over three shots of whiskey, the bartender leaned on the counter. 

"Why are you here?" Her sober speaking skills needed developing but they were able to be heard. Her Irish accent leaked through her words as she situated herself and put the rag that was in her hand on the counter. 

"Why do you want to know?" Dean questioned her, taking the three shots and swallowing them whole. He looked at her in her fantastic blue eyes and pursed his lips. 

"Well, a handsome guy like you doesn't usually walk into a bar and get drunk on a weeknight. So, why are you here? Wife break up with you, or maybe you got some hooker pregnant?" The gorgeous bartender interrogated Dean, but with a sweet tone. 

"No... I don't want to talk about it." Dean said, standing up and walking towards the door. 

"You have to pay, you know!" The bartender yelled after him, letting her tank top neck drop lower than it was. 

"Set me a tab." Dean turned around and looked at her. He flashed his eyes black as a tear dropped down his cheek and onto the floor. A smug look was saturating his face even though Dean Winchester was broken on the inside. He had been broken for years, ever since he went to Hell the first time. The only time he was happy was when Sam was there to lift him up or when Cas was there to comfort him. Or even when Bobby was there to talk some sense into him. 

xxxx

Castiel dared Metatron to speak another word. He dared him to test the patience of Castiel. Metatron sighed and looked at him with smug eyes. "Let me out, Castiel. I will help you." 

"No, but you will tell me." Castiel demanded him and told him. "Tell me how I can save Dean." 

"Let me out, Castiel. I will gladly tell you how, but you must trust me. After all, I am your brother." His eyebrows were raised. 

Cas pondered the thought and idea of Metatron being out on the streets of Earth. He thought about letting Metatron out once again and finally decided. "Metatron... I don't know if I can trust you." Cas thought and thought. 

"Well, let me make up your mind for you, Castiel." Metatron said walking over to the bars of the cage once again.

"No, Metatron, I can't." Castiel stiffened and the beige trench coat formed around his figure. 

"Yes you can..." Metatron coaxed his brother as the straight jacket restricted his arms from pulling his brother closer to him. "Yes, you can..." No matter what, Metatron would not stop. Cas' jaw tightened and he turned his head. 

"No, stop Metatron." Suddenly, the straight jacket was off of Metatron and Cas held it in his tan hands. 

"Well, you've already let me out." His eyebrows rose above his eyes and a smirk formed on his lips. 

"I-I didn't. I didn't let you out..." The shocked look haunted Castiel's face as he dropped the jacket to the ground and it banged against the hard asphalt covered ground. 

"Oh, but you did, even if you didn't want to. Now, what do you want to know first?" His brother's jaw dropped. He couldn't trust Metatron. He could never trust him. 

"How do I know that you are telling the truth? How can I know that you aren't just flaunting your victory of escaping in my face by sending me on a wild goose chase?" Metatron scoffed, knowing that his brother wouldn't ever let him out of there alive if he lied. Although, family should trust one another. They need to trust one another in order to stay familiar to each other. 

"I would never lie to a brother of mine. Never have I lied to anyone but the sick humans." 

"Metatron... Don't taunt me." Castiel demanded Metatron to tell him without even talking to him. His posture stiffened and an angel blade dropped out of the sleeve of the trench coat. 

"Now, now, brother, calm down. There is no need to resort to violence." A smirk covered his face, taunting and teasing his younger brother that stood before him. "Please, Castiel, put that weapon down and let's just talk to each other." 

"No," Castiel lunged at Metatron.

xxxx

The asphalt lay before the '67 Impala that was speeding down the interstate road. Dean Winchester sat in the driver's seat. Weapons scattered across the back seat and you could hear the little Lego that the elder Winchester stuck in the air vent when he was a small child, rattling in as the car sped down the asphalt. The little green army man that the now dead brother jammed into the back seat ashtray still could be seen if you looked closely. The modern city lights could be seen up ahead a few miles and the rustling trees and flat Earth could be seen out the windows of the moving Impala. 

Dean's foot pressed the gas pedal down further and further and the faster the car went, the bigger the smile on Dean's face got. It slowed to a stop though as it turned into an off-road diner: Harvelle's Roadhouse. The place burnt down a few years back from a damned demon the Winchesters had been hunting. Back then, things were actually happy. Sam was alive, and Jo and Ellen Harvelle too. Bobby Singer would sit around and drink a few beers with his 'boys' after a well done hunt. Even though the demon haunted Dean's motion filled eyes, he could still feel all the human emotions. It seemed like he had a soul, even though the soul he had was destroyed long ago. 

The remains of the roadhouse was in shambles. Pieces of burnt wood littered the ground, although most of the ashes were gone by now. Through all of the burnt wood and the broken glass that was shattered during the fire, one skeleton remained untouched by anything. The skeleton of Ash's computer lay on the ground at Dean's feet. Ash was a good guy. He had a heart and the mind of a genius. However, no matter how cruelly he had been treated, he could always find forgiveness in himself for others. When Dean killed him, he forgave the elder Winchester. There wasn't a piece of him that wasn't forgiving, even though he had no reason to be. Although Dean wasn't the one who ended Ash's life personally, he led the demon there. Dean had always been cursed, even when he was cleansed by an Angel of the Lord. Years went by and everyone wanted him dead. Everyone. Angels, demons, hunters, and even the hellions in Purgatory wanted him gutted and hung on the ceiling... just like his mother. 

Dean bent down and lifted the computer skeleton from the ground. It was broken. It was broken just like Dean was. The elder Winchester finally came to realization of how empty and how broken he was inside without Sammy. He realized that he had no one left except for Castiel, who was losing his grace and would soon die as an Angel of the Lord. He realized that he couldn't survive long without Sammy or Cas being there. He realized that everything he touched broke sooner or later. First it was his mother, Jess, John, Pamella, Jo, Ellen, Ash, Bobby, Rufus, Kevin, Gadreel, Sam, and now Castiel would die too. He broke everything he touched. He tortured himself by meeting new people. He tortured them. 

The broken computer lay in his hands and tears silently dropped down his face and fell onto the cracked screen. All the Winchester could think about was killing and torturing innocent people. All he could think about was the people who tried to save him but couldn't. All he could think about was all the people who tried to stop him and help him but died in the end. His mother appeared before him, vague and in a ghostly form. "Dean... What's wrong?" Her delicate and small hand reached up to gently stroke his face. She didn't touch him because she couldn't. Mary Winchester, the young and the beautiful, waved her hand only inches away from Dean's cheek. 

"M-M-Mom...?" Dean was shocked. His mouth hung open further and further every second his eyes scanned up and down her ghostly form. 

"Yes, honey, it's me. Now, tell me what's wrong?" She stood there in a pure white nightgown and walked around her son. 

"Sam's dead." Dean looked towards the ground and Mary walked silently around on the burnt wood and the small specks of leftover ashes at the roadhouse. 

"That's because you break everything you touch. No matter how many people help you, you always kill them. Sam was just in the way, am I right?" 

"N-no..." 

"Yes, I am. You know it too, darling." Her voice leaked with a cat's hiss and a dog's growl at the same time. The bitchiness of her vocal chords leaked out into the air that filled the starry sky. "You're just too stupid to realize that no one really wants to help you. No one really loves you. They just hope that if they do, they won't die like everyone in your past." She snaps the last part at him, still walking around his body. 

"No! It isn't true!" Dean grabs the blade and jams it through the frosty air where she stood as she quickly desecrated into the night sky. Jo appeared in front of him. Well, a frosty figure of Jo. Except she looked more real. God, how much Dean missed her. 

"Dean, your mother's right, you know. I knew you were trouble when you first walked inside our bar. I knew you would get me killed but I loved you..." Dean smiled and looked at her. 

"You loved me?" He mumbled and stared at her in awe. 

"No, I thought I did. Turns out I was just scared that you were going to get me killed and looked what happened. You killed me, Dean. You killed me." She desecrated into the air as he slashed The Blade across her ghostly throat. Dean dropped the computer skeleton and ran back to the Impala. He climbed inside and a ghost like figure appeared next to him. Dean raised his head to look at who the figure was. In a plaid shirt with a brown jacket and jeans on him, the figure looked Dean straight in the eyes. He finally saw the figure's face. 

"Sam..."


End file.
